


the moments between

by peppermintquartz, welcometothemeatshack



Series: Finn's Playroom [3]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Denial, Dom/sub, Female Friendship, Foreplay, Friendship, Homophobic Language, Multi, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2019-11-05 12:18:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17918675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometothemeatshack/pseuds/welcometothemeatshack
Summary: A compilation of moments, set in Finn's Playroom universe, in no particular order. Ratings vary.





	1. the one where Becky hurts her hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened the night Joe went on his date with Mustafa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this takes place the night of Joe and Mustafa's date (Chapter 18-20)

Paige is waiting for the credit card payment to go through when someone calls her name. Looking up, she finds herself staring into the face of her former fiancé. Her small smile dies, as does her good mood.

“Hey,” Rio says.

“I’m working,” Paige says, and gets out from behind the counter to return the card and the bill to Curt before escaping into the kitchen.

Of all days for Joe not to be at the bar… Paige knows it’s not Joe’s fault that her ex showed up. Joe has been captivated by that cute young cop - and while Joe may deny that it’s anything serious, Paige knows when someone is smitten - so him taking a night off to go out with Officer Mustafa Ali can only be a good thing for him.

But _Rio_ is here. Paige kneads the bridge of her nose, wishing in vain that she can be half as intimidating as her boss is. She’s deleted her Facebook account, cut off all contact, and still he has managed to find her. She can’t hide in here forever; without Joe, there’s only her and Becky running the show, and Becky is _horrible_ with the cash register.

Taking a deep breath, she ventures out again. Everyone here at this hour is a regular. Rio is seated at the end of the bar, the only one new to this place and unaware of it.

 _What did I ever see in him?_ Paige has asked herself multiple times. He was handsome and not bad in the sack, but there was always that undercurrent of condescension when he talked to her, just because she never graduated high school. (Joke’s on him - Paige _knows_ she’s smart. She’s practically Joe’s right hand, both in the bar as well as in his other line of work. If he wants information on someone or something, she’s the one to find it.)

He smiles at her. “You look good.”

“I know. What do you want?”

“Can’t I pop by to see my ex-fiancée?” Rio shrugs. “Pal of mine said you were working here. I thought, well, of course she’s in a dive bar.” He leans forward on the counter, smirking. “But I gotta say, you’re as beautiful as ever.”

Paige wants to slap that smugness off his face. Thing is, she can’t. She already has a record for assault. Specifically, she struck him when he told her he’d slept with one of his colleagues, like it’s no big deal. (Fucking Lacey with her pretentious flouncing about, always with the ‘darling’ and ‘good gosh’ like she’s not some goddamn bigoted bitch.)

She folds her arms. “Buy something or leave.”

“Hey, Paige, he botherin’ ya?” Riott calls out as she walks past towards the door, Liv piggybacked on Sarah as usual. Riott eyes Rio with suspicion, who returns the staring with mild disdain. She glances at Paige once more. They are not friends but all the women who frequent Joe’s bar will back one another up without question.

Paige shakes her head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Alright then,” says Riott and nods at Liv and Sarah to go on out the door.

“Bunch of fucking dykes,” Rio mutters.

Paige slams her palms in front of him onto the counter. “Don’t use that word, Rio,” she warns.

Rio raises an eyebrow, amused, like he thinks she’s being _cute_. “What? You sleeping with the dykes now?” 

Paige draws her hands back and shakes her head. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot? You’re the one who assaulted me. You’re the one stuck in a dead-end job in this dive,” he sneers. “I came by to see if you’d grown any sense, learn your place. Thought maybe I could give you a second chance.”

“Really? _You’re_ giving _me_ a second chance? Asshole, you’re the one who fucking cheated on me!”

Rising to his feet and grabbing hold of Paige’s wrist, Rio is about to retort when he’s interrupted by a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

When he turns around, he’s punched across the jaw by Becky, who then shakes out her right fist. “You’re not welcome in here,” Becky tells him. “And don't touch the staff.”

“The _fuck!?”_ yells Rio. “Do you even know who I am? I’m gonna fucking call the police on you, you fucking bitch!”

Becky cocks her head and smiles at him. “Hey, guys, anyone know who this dope is?” A general murmur of “nope” and “nuh-uh” respond to her query. The redhead’s smile fades and she grabs a bottle - too low on its neck, Paige realizes too late - and says, “This is the asshole who tried to glass me in the face and got my hand instead.”

She smashes the bottle on the counter, the sudden explosion of glass startling the bar. Becky, never looking away from Rio, closes her right hand and squeezes. Blood oozes from her fist.

Rio gapes. “You’re fucking crazy, I didn’t lay a _hand_ on you-”

“You did,” Paige says, cutting him off. “You called her a dyke and she heard you and challenged you, and you tried to glass her with the bottle.”

“That’s right, we saw you do it,” says Viktor. Konnor nods.

Just two seats down the bar counter, Gallagher sets down his beer and says, “Perhaps you should leave before she presses charges for assault, or before the rest of us defend her honor.”

The other regulars start getting up from their seats. Paige grins. She hopes she looks murderous with her dark red lips. “Retreat would be the wiser course, Rio. I mean, unless you think you can take on all of them.”

Rio stares around him. Then he flees, nearly falling out the door.

Once he’s out of sight, Becky curses loudly and relentlessly. Gallagher sighs and comes over with his handkerchief to wrap her hand up, while Paige orders everyone to get out and settle their tabs tomorrow (“No I’m not forgetting that you owe $25, you think Joe would let you drink for free?”).

As Paige locks the bar up and bundles Becky into her car to head to the hospital, Becky asks, “So that was your ex? Real charmer, that one.”

“Yeah, wonder why I dumped him,” Paige retorts. Then, with a soft smile, she adds, “You’re a dumbass, grabbing the bottle that way.”

“Better to get a fistful of glass than have cops swarming _Samoa Joe’s_ again,” says Becky, resting her head on the back of the seat. “Plus, this way I get the good shit from the hospital. I’m gonna be so fucking high, Paige, you can tie a string to me and use me as a goddamn kite.”

Paige snorts. “Don’t think I won’t.” 


	2. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AK-sketch-inspired, Ballins almost-porn ficlet. (I'm lazy, but we'll find the sketch later.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seth needs to learn the value of patience.

The look on Seth’s face is nothing short of devastated.

 _Always so dramatic_ , Finn thinks with a smile. Seth’s arm flexes again, his hand moving to grip himself once more, so Finn touches the tip of his index finger to Seth’s chin, tilting his head back further, forcing his eyes onto Finn’s.

“ **Stay** still.”

It’s said softly, but the command is clear to Seth, who stops completely, breathing heavily through parted lips.

“What’s that saying, love? _Patience is a virtue_?” Beautiful brown eyes roll upward, making Finn work to cover a laugh. “I think you could do to learn the meaning of that.”

Seth’s breath catches, his brow furrows, and he looks even more as if the world is ending around him. _Dramatic._

“That’s not fa-”

“Fairness is relative, darling.” Finn smooths his hand over Seth’s scruffy jaw, thumbing at the corner of plump lips, pressing in just enough to enjoy the feel of Seth automatically closing his lips around the tip before he retracts it, enjoying the pout it brings. “I want you to learn the pleasures of delayed self-gratification.”

“I don’t-”

“You’ll speak when I allow it, Seth.” The reminder of exactly _which_  of them is in control is unnecessary, really, with Finn fully-clothed, sitting casually on the edge of the bed while Seth kneels before him, nude and beautiful, hands clenching and unclenching atop thick thighs, desperate to move where he wants them most. Finn tells him, “You’re going to watch me,” and begins removing his cufflinks, unbuttoning his shirt, standing and using his foot to nudge Seth back. His hands go to his belt. “You’re going to watch me and, if you’re a good boy and keep your hands right where they are - the entire time - _then_  you may come.”

Seth’s strangled whimper is music to Finn’s ears.


	3. the one where Seth gives cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth has cookies and questions.  
> Aleister likes cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place before Seth and Finn had sex, but there's no specific time frame.

Aleister has just sterilized his tools and is putting them away for the day when he hears a rap on the door. It’s the young man from the convenience store next door, Seth, and he has a box in his hands.

Smiling, Aleister waves him in before he pulls off his gloves. “Seth, hey.”

“Hi. Um, do you- do you like cookies? I made oatmeal raisin cookies and I want to give them to you. I should’ve asked before I made them but-” Seth catches himself mid-ramble, and thrusts the box at Aleister.

The tattoo artist takes the box and opens them. The cookies are golden-brown and look delicious. “Thank you,” he says. “I like cookies.”

Seth grins, his eyes bright with happiness. He fidgets with his hands, rubbing at the cuticle of his thumb, and Aleister motions for him to sit down. Once Seth is settled, Aleister lights a cone of incense - sandalwood, as always - and pours a cup of tea for his guest.

“Uh, thanks.” Seth takes the cup. “Do you have someone coming in soon?”

“No.” Aleister waits. He’s found that tea helps people calm down, and silence prompts conversation. 

True enough, within two minutes, Seth says, “I wanna ask about your... your collar.”

Touching his collar, Aleister cocks his head. “What about it?”

“I used to wear one,” Seth confides, “and... and that turned out badly. You saw a bit of the aftermath. I just- You said you have someone who puts the lock on.”

“Yes.” Aleister doesn’t share anything about his domme. This is Seth’s time, not his, and his relationship with  _ Señorita  _ is their own business.

The other man clasps his hands together tightly, his large eyes downcast. “How did you know she was the one?”

That question makes Aleister pause. How did he know? He weighs his words, mutely topping up Seth’s tea, and then passes him one of the cookies. As Seth eats, Aleister studies him. Seth  is young, but there is a shadow in his gaze that gives him an air of remembered hurt; there are a few faint scars on his arms, some that Aleister thinks are self-inflicted, and one shiny scar that appears to have been a cigarette burn. 

_ ‘Turned out badly’ indeed. _

The tattoo artist breathes out slowly. “I’ve known her for some time, and we are honest with each other. I trust her with my life. That’s what wearing the collar means, to me.” Talking has never been his strong point. “I didn’t know what it meant to be vulnerable, to feel. She showed me.”

Seth bites his upper lip. “I... I think I’ve found someone like that.” He hesitates, and goes on: “He saved me. I’m just... I don’t know if this is me with some sort of hero-worship complex, or if it’s  _ real _ . I trust him, though. I’ve only known him for a few weeks and I trust him to take care of me. He's been taking care of me so far.”

“But you’re still afraid.” Aleister tilts his head, watching Seth’s microexpressions. Surprise, rejection, acceptance. 

Seth swallows nervously. “Not  _ of  _ him,” he clarifies hurriedly. “But... I don’t  _ know  _ him. He doesn’t share about his past, and I’m afraid to push. What if my pushing means that I lose him?” He stares at his hands again. “I don’t want to lose him. He is... He’s a good man. I know this. And he cares for me.” Very quietly, he confesses, "I want... I want to belong to him, I want to wear his collar."

“If he cares for you, perhaps he can care enough to be open to you, and then you both can decide together,” says Aleister gently. He thinks about it, and then reaches over to touch Seth’s hand before withdrawing. “But you do not have to rush anything. Wait for the moment. Wait for your courage.”

Seth smiles at him, sweet doe eyes bright and relieved. He nods, and finishes his tea. “Thanks, Aleister. I hope you like the cookies.”

Aleister smiles back. “Drop in anytime, cookies or no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what my procrastination gets you :)


	4. Blindfold

It has taken so long for them to get to this point where Seth trusts Finn enough to try it, but they are not quite there yet. The second the blindfold is secured over his eyes, Seth becomes utterly still, his chest not even rising and falling with his breath. Finn is still learning Seth and his limits, so naturally he asks if Seth is okay, but the younger man doesn’t respond at all. Then Finn sees the blindfold darken with wetness and realizes Seth is crying. He doesn’t panic, only whips off the blindfold and pull Seth into a tight embrace, murmuring reassurances and pressing kisses to the younger man’s face.

Seth’s forehead is clammy with sweat, and his hands are cold. He keeps repeating _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll do better, don’t be angry, please I’ll be good_ ; not for the first time, Finn wants to murder Hunter for everything he’s ever done to Seth. However, Finn just rocks Seth against himself, tucking the younger man as close as he can and promising that it is all okay, that they don’t have to do this, that he isn’t angry with Seth.

One day, Finn vows to himself, he will seek Hunter out and set Balor loose on the bastard.

***

“If the CIA really is monitoring my internet searches, there are going to be so many questions,” Seth quips. He squints at the document Finn gave him earlier. “What the hell is _‘forniphilia’_?”

“Human furniture,” Finn supplies, wandering back into the den with a glass of wine. He sits on the couch behind Seth, who has taken up his usual spot on the floor. The younger man leans against Finn’s shins and tilts his head back for a kiss, which Finn gladly supplies. “Some people like being useful.”

“Human furniture? Like... I don’t know, like the human sushi platter sorta thing?”

“Like being a chair or a coffee table for their dom.” Finn strokes Seth’s long hair idly. “Back in Tokyo, I had a client who loved being my clothes rack while her partner was being whipped. She never had to serve anyone her whole life, so she loved being Finn- _denka_ ’s clothes rack. Didn’t get to say a word, wasn’t allowed to move until we were done with the whipping.”

Seth gazes at the older man over his shoulder. “ _Denka?_ What’s that?”

“It’s an honorific for a prince,” says Finn, smiling serenely. He runs his fingers along the line of Seth’s jaw, petting his scruff. “Do you think you might be into it?”

The young man frowns at the list, and ticks off a ‘5’ - mild curiosity - before he continues with the rest of the checklist. It’s quiet, only a low murmur of music filtering in through hidden speakers, and domestic, except for the kink negotiation form that Seth is filling out. After another five minutes (Google gets a workout), Seth moves onto the couch and sits next to Finn. “I think the biggest no-nos are anything dealing with sharp objects,” he says, pointing those out, “and electricity. I’m not sure about collars at the moment.”

Finn brushes Seth’s hair from his face with great fondness. “The blindfold? The last time we tried it, you didn’t like it.”

 _“Didn’t like it”_ is putting it mildly. Finn remembers the one time they tried it, not long after they got together, Seth froze up and began crying in minutes.

“It’s a 2 for me right now,” Seth admits. He plucks at the hem of his shorts, nervous, and adds, “But I used to really love it. I’d like to get that sense of fun back.”

Relieved and proud, Finn kisses his boyfriend on his cheek. “We’ll start slow, sweetheart. Just closing eyes, then hands over your eyes, then a lace blindfold and so on.” He nuzzles into Seth’s neck. “We’ll get lots of practice.”

“I like the sound of that,” Seth murmurs, and turns to kiss the Irishman. _Lots of practice._ Yes, that sounds really good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink negotiation is important.


	5. New Year's Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one when it's New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't think this will fit into the fic itself but we love the sweetness of the moments, so here we go. Ballins-focused in this one, Joestafa in the next.

Finn sips his whisky slowly and watches with immense fondness as Seth and Mustafa bicker lightly over the merits of different types of donuts. They don’t even have donuts here at the party, but that’s how Seth and Mustafa interact.

Joe gestures to Mustafa and the young man immediately goes to him, taking his usual spot next to the big man, tilting up his chin for Joe to check if the new collar is chafing the pup's skin. Finn shakes his head. _Joe and Mustafa. Who would’ve thought?_

There will be trouble, Finn suspects. Those two are from entirely different worlds. Something has to give. He won’t spoil the mood tonight, of course.  He is so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice Seth sidling close, until he feels warm hands close around his own. Large doe eyes blink at him in mute question and Finn smiles at him. 

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just thinking that they look cute.” He offers his drink to his boyfriend, who shakes his head.

“It’s almost midnight,” Seth says. It’s clear what he wants.

Finn slides his other hand over the back of Seth’s head, and gently directs him down into a kiss.  He hears the countdown on the TV, but keeps his mouth on Seth, drinking him in and tasting the beer that he was drinking earlier. 

_ “…3! …2! …1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”  _

Finn releases Seth, grins at his slightly dazed look, and pulls him in for another that has Seth clutching at his shirt and moaning throatily.  When he finally lets go of Seth, the younger man is flushed pink and happy. 

“Last kiss of the year to see it off.” Finn brushes his thumb over Seth’s soft lower lip. “First kiss of 2019, to make sure you get off on a good note.”

Seth grins and nuzzles his nose against Finn’s. “Happy new year.”

“Happy new year, sweetheart,” Finn murmurs. “Now do you want out of the shackles?”


	6. New Year Snores

Joe bids goodnight to Finn and Seth, the latter leaning against Finn as they leave the bar, his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep, dark and beautiful as always, his curls mussed. Karl and Luke are waiting in the car outside (Joe had offered his spare room, but Finn had insisted on getting Seth home), Karl getting out to open the door for them, laughing at something Seth mumbles; Joe shuts the door and locks up before he hears Karl’s response.

A soft call of his name gets his attention - not that he’s forgotten Mustafa, cuddled up in the booth farthest from the door, away from any cold air that may force its way through, wearing his thick blue sweatshirt from his police academy days ( _and isn’t that_ something, Joe thinks to himself, _an assassin and an officer_ \- not that Mustafa is aware of the irony) over the thin shirt Joe knows is underneath.

“Yeah, baby?” Joe’s voice is amused; that humor only grows, a touch of fondness trailing it, as he watches the way Mustafa’s eyelids droop, his fingers tightening and loosening in short intervals around the half-full bottle he’s gripping.

“Did they get a ride?”

Joe nearly snorts at the way Mustafa’s _concerned officer_  persona peeks out from his _tipsy Mustafa_  one, but just replies, “Karl and Luke drove them,” and proceeds to wipe down the final table he’d told Finn to fuck off from, upending the chairs and setting them effortlessly atop the cleaned surface.

“Good,” mumbles the younger man through a yawn, grip slackening entirely on the beer bottle now, hand slipping to the booth’s tabletop, palm open, fingers curled inward. A quiet snore rumbles from him, and Joe _does_  snort now, but continues setting the rest of the chairs onto tables before moving behind the bar, putting away bottles of liquor and washing shot glasses, wiping down the bar top until everything is finished, tidied up and clean.

Finally, Joe walks over to Mustafa, slumped against the wall and the table, lips parted, little snores still escaping him. Joe circles one hand around Mustafa’s ankle, thumb rubbing tiny circles over the fabric of his pant leg, and says, “Alright, time to get up,” eyebrow lifting when a snore cuts off halfway and Mustafa’s dark eyes open, his brow furrowing. The older man rolls his eyes and moves his hand, offering it to him, and Mustafa takes it, grunting when Joe tugs him easily out of the booth and to his feet, steadying him with his other arm around a slim waist, tugging him into Joe’s space. “I’m not carrying you up the stairs, baby.”

Mustafa exhales, sounding amused. “If I asked nicely, you would.”

Joe smirks. “What would that entail, hm?” His other hand goes to Mustafa’s hip, squeezing, slipping beneath the hem of the sweatshirt to slide around to his lower back, pulling him closer.

Lips part, a pink tongue darting out to wet them, saliva shining in the soft light. “Anything you want,” breathes the smaller man, voice low, inhaling heavily before he adds a raspy, “ _Daddy_ ,” and Joe’s dick takes an immediate interest, but-

Mustafa’s eyes are heavy-lidded, both from sleep and drink, so Joe hums and both hands come up to gently grip the sides of Mustafa’s head, bringing it close enough to press a kiss to Mustafa’s forehead. His voice is a little deeper when he says, “Another night, baby,” and he reaches to snatch the beer bottle from the table, his free hand returning to the small of Mustafa’s back, guiding him toward the back room, to the stairs that connect the bar to the apartment above, Mustafa relaxed and content at his side.


	7. the one when Joe visits Finn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small moment back when Finn was still Regal's boy.

Joe glances around, feigning indifference. It's Regal's club, his "Court", and it's done up so posh and English that it makes Joe feel stifled. Cigar smoke and overstuffed leather chairs, dim lights and quiet voices; Joe heads straight to the bar and orders his usual. He lean against the polished mahogany and lets the others stare. As an American Samoan, he stands out from this group of distinguished gentlemen and elegant ladies with their "pets" and "darlings" and "dears". 

He doesn't like the place. Never has. But he has a membership nonetheless, and he's here every time he passes through London to another part of the world.

The English dom is with his favorite, of course. Regal is seated in the heart of his domain, clad in his custom three-piece suit, in a dark tweed because he's a stuffy old queen, and Finn Balor, lounging at his knees in a long black silk kimono, a collar around his neck, the leash loosely wrapped around Regal's fist. There are a few others, doms and subs, ranged about the pair, but Regal and Finn are clearly the focus of the room.

Joe isn't certain how he feels about Finn. He likes the guy, sure. They have fun together in bed and outside of it. Finn may be a kept boy (despite his insistence that he's in training to be a dom) but he's also a fearsome fighter, unafraid to take on anyone. Joe and Finn got into a brawl with patrons of a seedy bar the last time they hooked up, because some idiots didn't like seeing two men being friendly. Finn had nearly beat one dude's face to a pulp, which led to Joe fucking Finn harder than he'd ever done in his crappy hotel room after they'd made their escape.

It's not love that Joe feels. That much he knows. But it's something covetous and hungry, that wants to keep Finn close to him; he's absolutely sure that the Irish bastard would laugh if he knows.

It's Regal who notices Joe at the bar. Smiling graciously, the dom raises his glass and tips it in Joe's direction, and Joe returns it with a nod before knocking back his own drink (a good fifteen-year single malt whiskey) and asks for another. Regal bends forward slightly to whisper in Finn's ear, and the younger man turns to seek out Joe. When he finally sees the Samoan, he grins, mischievous and anticipatory. He whispers to Regal, his kimono slipping to reveal a pale shoulder, and Regal laughs.

The whiskey is good. Joe contents himself with watching, assured that Finn will be coming over to him soon now that the younger man knows he's here. As if reading Joe's mind, Finn moves across the floor while on his knees to face Regal, back to Joe, and sheds his kimono in a smooth, practiced move, leaving it draped from his elbows, baring his torso to the room. Stripes - of dark purples and fading pinks - cut across the white expanse of his back, symmetrical and  _beautiful_. Joe has to admit that the old English dom is a master at what he does.

If he didn't know that Finn and Regal aren't in a sexual relationship, Joe might have thought Finn is going to give his dom a blow job right then and there. Instead he knows it's a performance solely for him. He sips at his drink, admiring the way the black silk brings out the fairness of Finn's complexion, and the fading bruises over his bare back. Regal pats Finn on his dark hair, and undoes the leash clipped to the young man's collar. Finn stands, wearing the kimono draped from his arms. The Irish brat is smirking as he sashays across the room in heels to Joe, his stubbled chin closely trimmed. He's wearing lacy panties and garters and stockings, and many patrons' eyes follow him as he walks past.

"Sir wishes you a good evening," Finn informs Joe primly, as if he's not almost naked in front of the big guy.

Shifting slightly so he can tip his drink at Regal, Joe answers, "It's getting better." He reels Finn in with a large hand round the back of his fair neck, and tugs the Irishman in for a kiss.


	8. two weeks' notice

“You did  _ what?” _

The incredulous expression on Christian’s face is hilarious, but Roman holds back his mirth; this is serious business. “That’s why I quit. Because I wanted to-”

“Kiss. Tyler. Breeze. You quit because you wanted to  _ kiss Tyler Breeze _ .” The older man covers his face in exasperation. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“We haven’t done that,” Roman supplies helpfully. 

Christian glares daggers at him. “I don’t give a  _ shit _ if you have fucked him or not. The fact that one of our employees hooked up with one of our clients is what I give a shit about.”

“Again, I quit before I-”

“You have to give two weeks’ notice, you big idiot. Two weeks!” Christian groans. “Bloody hell, Reigns, this isn’t some rom-com grand gesture, okay? If you should break up - and given his history, you probably will - and Breeze’s lawyers even get wind of this, they could tie us up in litigation or something. And he has  _ very good  _ lawyers. McCool alone...” 

Roman shifts his weight from foot to foot, uneasy. 

Sighing, Christian leans back in his chair. “Write your damn resignation letter now, and date it to yesterday. For these two weeks, do not - I repeat,  _ do not _ \- be caught with Breeze, you hear me? I’d tell you to avoid him until the two weeks are up but I’m gonna guess that you’re not gonna do that, so for the love of God,  _ don’t be caught with him alone.” _ The older man chews on his thumbnail. “You have to talk to him, make sure he does not talk about the kiss. As far as anyone else is concerned, you two got together two weeks from today.”


End file.
